Deterioration

I found myself in yesterday: I would let the inky slickness slide beneath my skin until I was suffocating so hard from my own writing I pondered the thought of slashing my throat and letting the darkness ooze away, but I knew it had already been coated sickly sweet across the lips of many others and swallowed down by incessant murmurs, so dancing around the medicine dosage I had increased daily wouldn't have made a difference to them.

I would ask multiple people if this paranoia which further enforced the idea of my psychopathic instability had an affect on them, our friendships, our closeness. It was either cute messages saying I over exaggerate my condition, or a downward spiral into darknesses spire. Either response evoked a crash of loathsome self pity which washed down my nerve endings and ricochetted throughout my brain stem. I laughed between the tombstones of my teeth rotting from sterile words and flashed brief intervenes of grimaces I blamed upon sour drinks and not the detestable self hatred I had bubbling inside my mouth.

And when the thought that today was yesterday and tomorrow had been last week would not recede I envisioned myself at a therapists office, white rimmed furniture screaming back at me "Don't tell them the truth, don't tell them the truth" at a ceaseless rate until I would leave with every nerve trembling, shaking out everything beside the razors beneath my bed and the 47 pills I saved inside my jacket pocket. I faded into a silhouette, screeching out obscenities at a mirror and slamming bloody palms into lifeless walls expecting to evoke a reply from them. I crumbled into a tattered ball, surfacing only from assorted ringtones I deemed appropriate for various persons. And the truth of the matter was I tried to set fire to yesterday, to burn it to ashes even if my bones charred to brittle but I only pushed myself into today with seared emotions and nothing to show for them.

-You'll find the trueness of a writer beneath their fingernails and eyes rather than leather bound journals shoved under a pillow //r.k.